


every musketeer needs a hat

by isloremipsumafterall



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/pseuds/isloremipsumafterall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Constance is part of the Musketeer family, there’s no doubt about that least of all to Porthos. (small collection of Porthos and Constance friendship ficlets)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You bought me a hat?” Constance stared at the hat in her hand confused. The leather was dyed a deep red and it was in the style of what the Musketeers wore, not like the usual hats she would wear. She looked up to see Porthos shifted on his feet and looking down.

A few months had passed since the incident with Milady and Constance had expected her life to fall into the old complacency all though she hadn’t been looking forward to that; she would miss the adventure. Much to her surprise the Musketeers did keep coming back for her help.

Athos would be requesting of someone with a sensible head on the mission with them staring accusingly at the other three Musketeers with an exasperation only he could manage. Aramis would joke that they needed a better view on the mission until she smacked him, but she could also see he was relieved when she took charge in helping him when someone was wounded. While she and d’Artagnan still had their awkward moments together, thinking of the could have beens, she could tell that when he said another sword would help looking up at her that he truly meant it. But Porthos, the truth was, she hadn’t interacted with much, which is why it came at such a surprise when he stepped into her house brandishing the hat at her awkwardly.

“Well, yes.” Porthos finally looked up at her only to get embarrassed again and look down. “The thing is…you’re family, right? It’s about time you had a hat to go with the sword.”

Constance stood there shocked for a moment before she glanced at the hat and then back to Porthos who was getting more nervous by the seconds. She could feel the tears welling up and made an effort not to cry.

“Constance?” Porthos looked at a loss of what to do, he reached a hand out, going to rest on her upper arm but hesitated unsure if he should or not.

“Idiot.” Constance berated, her voice wavering with emotion, and she grinned stepping forward to wrap her arms around Porthos’ neck. His hands came to hesitantly rest on her back and they stood there for a moment before she stepped back. “You may be a lot of the idiots, but you’re my idiots.”

Porthos beamed at her, “We can live with that.”

The next mission they went on Constance wore the hat, Athos raised an eyebrow, Aramis smirked, and d’Artagnan looked confused by it before all three of them shrugged it off and urged their horses into a trot leaving Porthos and Constance to take the rear. Porthos sidestepped his horse towards her.

“Nice hat.”

Constance shook her head, smiling. “I’m quite attached to it. It was a gift from my brother you see.”

They exchanged amused looks and together went to catch up with the others in front of them.


	2. Chapter 2

He was standing at the door awkwardly when she opened it, hat in his hands and mouth open and closing as if he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Porthos?” Constance tilted her head, “Can I help you? Is everyone okay.”

Porthos nodded at that, “They’re fine, thing is…are you okay?”

She blinked in surprise. “Me?”

He nodded again, “Ye’ve been gone as of late, you haven’t shown up around the garrison…” He trailed off, looking to the side.

She frowned. “Porthos you realize d’Artagnan lives there now. I’ve no reason to be at the garrison beyond business.”

Porthos looked over at her, a hurt expression on his face that both confused and saddened her to know she put it there. “Rubbish, there’s always us. Ye’re a friend.”

Her eyebrows raised at that, she had never really had much of a conversation with this Musketeer. Athos was a friend from before, Aramis had enjoyed teasing her, and d’Artagan, well. She stopped that thought. Porthos had always been kind granted, amused by everything but she remembered when Fleur went missing and Porthos had taken everything she said seriously and offered assurances, but she’d never classified them as friends before…

Porthos was shifting on his feet now, avoiding her eyes. Constance smiled lightly and raised a hand to tap Porthos on the arm, garnering his attention.

“Then you’d best continue this friendship by helping me carry things back from the market.”

A smile spread across his face, wide and grateful. He offered her his arm in exaggerated gallantry, making her laugh as she took it.

The walk to the market was kept in ease with Porthos telling stories of earlier missions, pre-d’Artagnan and she was grateful that he had been keen enough to avoid that topic.

It was a strange friendship, but she was glad to welcome it.


	3. Chapter 3

She had been bringing in the last of the laundry, night was in full swing in Paris with drunken yells and the echoes of fights in alleyways filling the air, when Porthos stumbled in the courtyard. Constance dropped the laundry right away, putting it out of her mind as she rushed over.

“Porthos? Are you hurt? If everything all right?”

As she got closer the stink of alcohol permeated the air and she wrinkled her nose, her face twisted in anger now. “Are you drunk? Drunk and stepping into my courtyard, I thought you were the least moronic of the idiots.” She sighed, her breath appearing in a puff in the cold of the night. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

It took some doing but she eventually got Porthos in the door and sitting at the table. His eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing and Constance, despite her annoyance, couldn’t help but be worried.

d’Artagnan had told her he would be at the garrison tonight, celebrating that they had gotten Porthos out of the Court of Miracles, she had heard about the arrest before and asked d’Artagnan to keep her informed of what was going on. He had said Porthos was fine and had left, but looking at the man in front of her Constance could see something was wrong.

“Porthos…aren’t you supposed to be at the garrison?” She broached the topic quietly, tucking hair that had fallen in her face back behind her ear.

“Couldn’t stay there.” He was looking down at the floor, voice was rough with emotion. Constance hadn’t known Porthos for very long, or even very well, but some part of her knew that these were emotions he was trying not to feel tonight. Porthos continued, “Wanted to forget.”

Her heart hurt at seeing Porthos like this, her impression of Porthos thus far was one of someone who was always amused by the situation, ready for a fight, and rarely maudlin. She’d heard of what happened with the man named Bonnaire, his anger that day and the unfairness of the situation hurting him. It seemed in contrast of the man she had always seen smiling, but ready for an apology should he step too far.

Her hand hovered over his shoulder, unsure if the comfort would be welcome before Constance decided to throw caution to the wind. She rested her hand lightly on him. How long they were frozen in that tableau she couldn’t be sure of, but Porthos finally broke the silence. “He’s dead.”

Hand tightening just a bit, voice still low, she responded, “Who’s dead Porthos?”

A friend. I thought. He was foolish, I was wrong to care.”

Constance’s heart felt tight in her chest, “Oh Porthos.” She brought her other hand up to rest behind his neck, thumb brushing against the backs of his hair as she tried to offer comfort to a friend, new as he was. “It isn’t your fault. You can’t be responsible for him and his actions. That’s the problem with you Musketeers.” She left out an amused huff, smiling slightly despite the situation, “You always care too much.”

Porthos’ next movement caught her off guard, his head resting against her stomach, arms coming up to wrap around her waist. It was awkward but Constance merely readjusted herself slightly to have a more comforting grasp, leaning over him slightly, “It’s going to be okay Porthos. It’s going to be okay” She stroked his back and wisely chose not to comment on the wetness that struck the floor.

Paris lived and breathed around them, noises filtering through her house, but Constance ignored it all, ignored her feet getting tired and her back aching from the position, until Porthos was ready to stand again and offer her a weak smile as she led him to sleep in the back room. Shutting the door Constance considered her strange friendship with the man, completely different than those she had known before or ever would again, but couldn’t regret it in anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really need these two to be friends.


End file.
